The Appeal of Mrs Toogood

Inspired by my recent trip to the Gatherums, I decided to spend last Saturday afternoon plodding around Louth visiting the other community orchards that were laid down in 2021 and 2022. Including the Gatherums, although that unfortunately no longer qualifies as an orchard on account of only being one tree, there are four, spread around the town in what is almost a circle. Just to pad the expedition out a bit, I decide to finish at my own place which would be a public orchard if only I’d thought more carefully about where I planted it. I’ve been told that my trees are full of blossom so if the public orchards are in a depressing state, hopefully my lads will cheer me up afterwards.

I start the day at the Gatherums but don’t take any photos because I took one last week and there’s nothing else worth recording for posterity. I wonder if trees can feel sadness or loneliness. I really hope not. Why on earth would people kick down trees? I just don’t get it. I suspect the council knew they were taking a risk and that’s why they only planted five, the bare minimum for a legal orchard. As far as I’m aware, no attempts were made to repair or replace the trees that lost their lives beneath the boots of their oppressors. It’s sad that we give up so easily.

I’m feeling a bit melancholic as I set off but I’m hoping my first stop-off point will cheer me right up. Westgate Fields is a beautiful park a little shy of a mile away through the bustling town centre (it’s market day) and along Westgate where I get to look enviously at posh folks’ houses and wish I’d chosen a more financially rewarding career than that of layabout. I bet there are some apple trees lurking in these vast gardens but I’ll probably never know for sure unless I decide on a secretive trespass one night. It’s not likely. I’m too frit by the thought of guard dogs and police helicopters.

Through the wooden gate by the old Trout farm I go and on into Westgate Fields. I have fond memories of this place: paddling along the river on tractor inner tubes, fishing for sparkling Rainbow Trout and rampaging through the snow on potato-sack sledges. Them were the days. The trout farm is long gone now. I doubt there’s much left in the river either. There are deer in the woods though which is a welcome sight. Unless you’re an apple tree.

The orchard is to my left near the Crowtree Lane entrance. There’s a covered shelter and I wonder why the kids that presumably congregate therein have never taken out their boredom on the trees. Perhaps it’s simply because there are more of them? Twenty in total, arranged in four rows of five, all boasting chicken wire skirts and etched labels. The layout looks a bit unnatural to me but is traditional and designed to support airflow, or so says the sign. I’ll confess that it’s a bit of mystery to me, that. Why is air rushing past before you get chance to make friends any better than stationary air that hangs around? It’s the same molecules isn’t it? Answers on a postcard please.

Despite my misgivings, the trees here look hale and hearty apart from a couple that appear to have attracted the attention of the local deer. Not all are blossoming but that’s what you’d expect this early in Spring. They come and go at times their own. There’s a particularly spry looking Dr Clifford at the lower end of the orchard, proud and upright instead of leaning precipitously over like the one back home. I’m not crying, I’ve just got something in my eye.

After walking round the site twice, reading every label as I go and chuntering approvingly to myself at several points, I head out along Crowtree Lane and turn right past the grammar school. I went here in the eighties and they taught me enough to get to University but not enough to know I was wasting my time studying politics. The school wasn’t as big then but all my memories are fond ones. Except that one time I got done for scribbling on the desks in the library. Fortunately the Headmaster was on leave so I got away with a talking to and a couple of lunch breaks spent sanding my Tolkien-based graffiti away.

The next stop on my odyssey is the London Road Cemetery orchard. What I thought was the cemetery’s entrance turns out to be a private house which proves to be a little awkward. It’s an amazing looking building resembling part of a castle. I had always presumed it to be a sort of official lodge for the gravediggers and funerary officials but there’s a small sign saying words to the effect of keep out. Despite that, I almost press the bell and demand they open the gates but I’m saved by the street map facility on my phone. After standing on their driveway for a good ten minutes looking like a scruffy hawker, I walk away and make good use of the actual public entrance a few hundred yards away. The cemetery is peaceful this afternoon. My relatives are all buried in nearby villages so I’ve no personal interest here but the grief is still palpable.

There are no signs directing you to the trees so I just follow the path, on the lookout for white blossom. I hit the motherlode near the caged five-a-side football pitch next door. Twenty four fruit trees, representing apple, pear and gage varieties, all arranged in rows but this time with no labels. I think on the whole I prefer this to Westgate Fields. The views are wonderful. If you ignore the neighbouring sports centre, you can see far off into yonder, fields and trees with nothing to hide them from view. You might even be able to watch the village cricket if you bring some binoculars. Behind me is the cattle market which might spoil the ambience on Monday afternoons (it’s the only one left in Lincolnshire), but at any other time this would be a wonderful place to sit down and while away the hours. Even better if you come in Autumn and can help yourself to some free fruit.

Right. I need to be back home in time for the football results so I set off for orchard number four, Harveys Lane. I have to bother an elderly fella who is doing a bit of weeding for some directions because I’m sure there’s a more convenient exit than heading back the way I came. Thinking back, maybe I shouldn’t have disturbed him but it seemed fair enough at the time. On the way out of the cemetery I pass the Orthodox Church, a beautiful building that looks a bit foreboding all chained up but which I’m sure is full of warmth and cheer of a Sunday morning. 

This leg of my expedition takes me past the end of my road so I stop off for a comfort break and  have a glass of water while I’m at it. I’m soon back on my way, heading for a nearby footpath that I hope will take me around a couple of fields and bring me out near my next target. Although the council website says the orchard is on Harveys Way, I’m pretty sure that’s just a typo. I’m proved right when I spy a few likely looking suspects on Harveys Lane. There’s a smallish green space by the side of the road with four fruit trees protected by chicken wire. It’s probably official tree wire but same difference.

The trees here are labelled but there’s nothing I haven’t got back in the family field. I briefly consider whether I should publish a database of publicly available apple varieties but I suspect the only person interested would be me. Four trees means this isn’t officially an orchard so I wonder if a tree fell victim to vandalism at some point. There are a lot of houses around and nowhere obvious to go shoplifting. What else are youngsters supposed to do with their time? I immediately regret thinking that to myself. I don’t really think all or even most teenagers are criminals. Most of the ones I know are lovely. And are also karate enthusiasts so I’m best off not winding them up.

I don’t feel like I’ve ended the official tour on a high note but I’ve had a lovely time wandering around Louth, reminding myself what a lovely place it is to nearly retire in. We are lucky to have even two free orchard spaces even if the other pair have been less successful. I conquer the last gruelling half mile out to Ticklepenny in fine fettle. There’s a good amount of blossom on my trees and my recent pruning efforts don’t at this point seem to have done too much damage. Journey’s end is the orchard corner where my Dr Clifford leans. I think back to the proud upright specimen at Westgate Fields. All things considered, I think I prefer mine.